


The good Villain

by TariTheNurse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain Marvel (2019), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Attempt at Genocide, Bittersweet, Capture, Consequences, Crime, Crimescenes, Dead kids, Descriptions of injuries and death, Earth, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Science, False Accusations, Finding allies, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gore, Hate, Heartache, Homesickness, Honey I'm the greatest good you ever gonna get, Humour, Imprisonment, Innuendo, Interrogation, Justice, Killing, Loneliness, Loss, Misunderstanding, Monsters, Multi, Murder, Mystery, New team/family/friends, Not so false accusation, Outer Space, POV Alternating, Pining, Prison, Prisonbreak, Prompt Fic, Reader Insert, Revenge, Sadness, Salt, Serious, Serious Injuries, Sex, Smut, Space Vampires, The greater good, Trauma, Understanding, common ground, consequences of actions, fluffy sex, impossible love, judge - Freeform, killer, lots of gore, mission, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”.
Relationships: Loki/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 90





	1. One

… Reader …

The translation is delayed by a second, but long enough for the Terran to scrunch her eyebrows in concern. “On a scale from zero to ten, where ten is the worst imaginable…how bad is the pain?”

Right now, you can remember a lot of different injuries and neither they nor the current one are anywhere close to real agony. That kind of pain, the kind that takes over your body in a rush until there is nothing else, they are rarely physical in origin unlike the thumping ache in your arm.

“Three,” you answer, bending to study the odd angle of the limb, “can you heal it?”

She seems puzzled by the question even as she makes note on a chart before ripping off the paper and sends you on the way with it to something, she calls an “Ex Ray”. _What is it now if not a ray?_ Deciding not to worry about that for now, you follow the line on the floor she has told you to follow.

… Loki …

The conference room is eerily silent as each Avenger studies the files Carol Danvers has sent. Now and then someone sighs, or Romanova whistles softly as a way to express that she (for once) is impressed – although not in a positive way. Everyone on the team has seen their share of horrors, created at the hands of criminals and maniacs alike. Very, very rarely have they gotten close to something of this level of cruelty.

“Don’t….don’t check out ‘ny o’the appendixes,” Stark croaks with a shudder.

_Mortals,_ Loki rolls his eyes,_ always so weak._ Scrolling rapidly through the data, he reaches the part they have been warned about. Images, perfectly sharp and with small descriptive texts and arrows to help the person studying the information in case it proves difficult to identify what is what. His stomach churns, bubbling threateningly until he can taste the sour tang in the back of his mouth. _By the ancients._

“Carol thinks it…she…the killer’s here?” The normally brave Wilson appears ashen as he closes the device.

“Yeah, hopping from planet to planet…” Rogers pauses briefly before completing the sentence, “killing and burning children and anyone who gets in the way…”

_Not even I committed such atrocities._ It is of little comfort, of course, for the Asgardian to have found someone more hated than himself. Still, he cannot help but wonder what demented reasoning is causing the Betan to inflict such madness, although he is loathing to grant her evil ways the benefit of the doubt.

“Why kids and why _those_ kids?”

There is no answer for Barnes’ question, though, so it is added to the list of information they need to obtain while hunting down the villainous female.

… Reader …

Considering the primitive methods of healing (well, anything), it seems improbable to you that Terrans have managed to not just survive but thrive for as long as they have. The healers have done the best they could after you refused surgery. Now your arm has been set, fixed, and wrapped in in a clumsy cast that will prove an additional challenge in and of itself – however, you are already plotting how to improve the situation with a few upgrades of your own.

As you navigate the crowded streets of the city, you keep an eye out for the reason you are here: Leeches. Soul Leeches, to be exact. Once a respectable commander of the Rescue Forces of Sirius Beta, your first encounter with the invasive species had almost wiped out your entire crew because their manner of proliferating is…sneaky. Even now, the terror-fueled respect has your skin crawling as shadows turn into monsters dressed up as innocent charades.

And here? Oh, this is a playground for the Leeches. Adults and younglings mingling closely, all with empty eyes glued to little screens or their ears filled by sound-emitting devices. _Hermits drifting in a sea of people._ Not that you are overly sociable yourself, but unfortunately that type of numb behaviour makes it a lot harder to identify the victims, the Leeches, and those untouched.

First things first, though. You need a place to crash and reconsider your course of action. The planet holds other dangers, such as the non-automated vehicle. What other planets still use manual transportation devices? It’s ridiculous!

… Loki …

Despite the black umbrella, Loki’s trouser-legs are drenched. The rain is carpet bombing the asphalt, bouncing back up with the dirt and grime of the busy city. Still, the only way the horrible weather affects the hustle and bustle of the citizens is merely by making them marginally grumpier, their own umbrellas becoming improvised weapons if someone moves too slowly through the downpour. No one pays attention to the God of Mischief and Chaos as he stands by the mouth of the alley.

_Blind fools. _As opposed to his brother who has come to adore the Midgardians, Loki rarely considers them anything but dimwitted bordering on useless. It is no wonder, then, that they are continuing through their life without paying attention to the danger lurker among them.

Since Danvers brought the case to the Avengers, newly including him, the Betan has been working quite efficiently. She has struck at random, already killing four children and most of their families. In one instance the infant brother had been spared – left outside the neighbour’s door as though the murderer suddenly had grown a conscience. _Impossible._ Sympathy and conscience is lost, worn away by the callous acts rather than the other way around. But what could explain why the baby was spared, then?

“Get outta ‘ere!”

The angry voice makes the slender man turn to find the origin, spotting a small grocer yelling at someone. Fist raised, a broom grabbed hard in the other hand, he appears to be more of a threat than his victim is willing to take on although instincts clash for an instant – wanting to escape attention while simultaneously unwilling to risk the wrath of the weather (a task that seems paradoxical with the sea-coloured hair).

Tilting the umbrella slightly, it is possible to observe the dash from one inadequate shelter to the other. _She._ Few males on this planet move as this person does especially when encumbered with a cast on one arm and a heavy laden grocer’s bag on the other. Just as the woman reaches the corner at the opposite end of the intersection, her stride falters as if controlled by an outside force and her body turns. As if in slow motion, inhumanely black eyes lock onto the small shape of a child who is following closely behind the parents and the mouth twitches to avoid contorting into a sneer…but the next second the woman slips around the corner while the oblivious family continues.

Coincidences do happen, just like accidents do. _Sometimes._ Thriving on chaos, however, means that Loki is intimately aware of how rare true randomness is.

The sleek phone presses softly against his ear, and he finds himself to be holding the breath until the dialing tone is broken.

“What’s up, reindeer games?”

“I believe I’ve seen our killer.”


	2. Chapter 2

… Reader …

Infinity holds, as the description hints at, infinite options. Take planets. Somewhere, someone has started counting them all and they will never reach the end just like it is similarly impossible to number the types of biospheres, or dangers. Through the Academy, you’ve studied a number of hostile conditions and how to deal with them, ensuring that you can survive most environments, and all things considered: you have been lucky throughout your career.

Until now. Consumed by the urge to fulfill your destiny, you have started paying less attention to the “where” of things. Now the bill has come due, meaning you’ve landed yourself in the middle of the worst climate.

“Stop! Fracking! _Leaking!_”

No amount of screaming at the sky will have an effect other than scare the local critters. Huddling near the half-rusted fuel drum, you wiggle each naked toe carefully, ensuring nothing’s gotten too cold or has melted from the wetness. _Rain,_ you turn the foreign word in the mouth. Someone had shouted at you to watch where you’re going, to not mind this…rain. There’s no word for it in your native language, though plenty of options in Kyrrelian, Sakaarian, yes, even the now dead languages of Morag. _Obviously Morag._

A drop from your pants, hanging above the barrel, falls into the makeshift fire and causes it to sputter and hiss. Nothing likes water. Huddled on the splintering pallet with a few rags of tarp, you try to keep yourself warm despite the ominous splatter of wetness from outside.

_Focus on the mission._ Today has brought two victories and a new target.

First, you had managed to isolate a strong Leech, making an end to its life and those it had already started draining.

Then, which was almost better, you had figured out how commerce works on Terra, using the paper flaps assigned some monetary value which in turn got you plenty of your pure, wonderful sustenance. Never in your life had you seen so much of the Life Crystals. Bag upon bag, all advertising openly what is hidden inside as though people would not plunder the little shop to obtain it…and actually, they didn’t. The Terrans walked about, paying little attention to the valuable minerals.

Drops sizzle, steam rises from your trousers, reminding you of the discovery as you had to leave the shelter of the store. For a moment, you had thought the reasons for the small hairs rising on your body was that someone might be watching you…but as soon as your gaze swept around the surroundings, you found the real reason: vacant eyes and static movements as the little herd navigated the masses ahead of the Soul Leech they belong to. The Leech is old enough that no one will be concerned it is not handled by one of the adults, yet young enough that people would drop their defenses and get too close if it whimpers or calls out for help.

“Yo-ehmm…” a hoarse voice reaches out to you, “go’ room by ‘a’ drum, eh?”

The Terran at the edge of the light has seen better times. Worn and dirty clothes, holey shoes stuffed with newspapers. His hair is long and unkempt without the lustre of health, promising a set of teeth more lacking than anything else. _Harmless._ He is swaying, either from fatigue or a kind of stimulant.

“Sure.”

Keeping to the far side of the heat source, he shuffles a bit closer after finding a piece of wood to sit on, clearly relieved to find respite from the so-called rain.

Satisfied with the added security by numbers, you recoil to the safety of planning. Sometimes, you fingers stray to pick a few crystals from the pack, allowing them to roll over the tongue and dissolve. Already, you are feeling the boost it gives your physiology and it will not be long before the ridiculous cast around the arm can be removed. _It has become quite practical, though._

As you pull out a colouring tube from your backpack, you set to work repairing the blemishes. Black, rather than the glaring white, it blends into the shadows when you stalk your target, and you have come to appreciate the softness of the wrapping which absorbs blows surprisingly comfortably despite the underlying damage.

“How’d ye ge’ one o’ those?” Although his eyes are not exactly on your cast, you know it is about that.

_You wouldn’t believe me, Terran._ “Crashed. Shit happened.”

“Hm.” While he ponders the answer, there is nothing but the crackle of the fire to be heard – the leak in the sky must be stopped. “So…” He picks at a nail, long since rusted into the wood he sits on. “The docs didn’ take ou’ last bit, eh? Left somethin’ behind in mah head too…say too dang’rous to remove.” A crooked finger taps at a spot at the back of the head, hidden behind the mass of wiry, greasy hair. “Way I see ’t…better if they tried anyways. Head ain’t been mine since come back from over there.”

You find it hard to make sense of most of the things Terrans say, but the look in the man’s face is universal. “You served your…country?”

“Wha’ they say, innit?” _Yes, he means yes._ “Now…I’m on my own.”

He knows you understand in that moment. None of you have to speak any longer, just sit there in the broken darkness haunted by the memories of the past – that is the real damage, a pain you thought you understood when you signed up as recruits. _We didn’t._ Even if healers could fix the damage to the Terran’s brain, nothing can be done about the wounds crisscrossing his soul, and for a glimmer of a second you wish he could find the kind of piece a Leech provides as it drains its prey. _No._ You have seen it happen, seen the desperation flare up every time a soul struggles to remain. They always realize too late.

… Loki …

“That’s just _na_sty!” Stark voices an opinion shared by all.

Treading carefully through the suburban house, Loki can hear the voices of the firefighters discussing how it only is because of the rain that the fire had not spread. Mad luck, they say. _Or smart planning._ With the exception of a few of the Avengers none of the dimwitted mortals have realized that the charred remains of the family have been staged together with the destructive blaze to hide the real cause of death.

Bending closer while ignoring the red shock of hair nearby, the keen eyes of the Asgardian can see the cuts running deeper than the roasted flesh. “This one appears more brutally attacked,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Romanova nods, pointing to the wrist, “fracture here’s pre-mortem.”

It happens as Loki circumvents the corpse of the child to get a better look. With a sickening, slobbery sound, the skull begins to tilt backwards before letting go of the still tender muscles and falling to the ground with a thud.

“Look.” He ignores the sound of someone in the background throwing up. “That wound.”

Both the Black Widow and Barnes huddle close, inspecting the circular cavity left from a narrow weapon passing through what used to be a chin. _Rounded like a rod…or tube. _Carefully tipping the fallen piece of head with the tip of his toe, Loki bares the roof of the mouth through which the wound continues.

“Betcha’s the killing blow,” Barnes offer.

“We don’t _bet_ at crime scenes,” the other veteran scolds, “no betting, joking, or giggling.”

…

Scrolling through the data, only one conclusion presents itself although the evidence is incomplete. Captain Danvers and the mercenaries calling themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” – a ridiculously pretentious name – have attempted to uncover more evidence from the past crimes scattered across multiple realms, and in the cases where it has been possible to learn anything at all there are signs of the same killing blow to one victim at each location. _Always a child._

But why not just any children? As twisted as the mind of a madman must be, there is always a grain of logic to be found. Broken logic, sure, but a flicker of explanation to why a particular pattern has arisen.

“Intergalactic mass-murderer or not,” Loki interjects softly, pausing an argument between Strange and Stark, “if it was simply a matter of killing, then why travel such distances? You both know there must be more to it.”

“C’mon!” Now both men agree, directing their frustrations at Loki. “You can’t be serious? You think something about killing kids can make sense?!”

_Killing or leaving to die, what is the difference?_ “I do not presume to agree or understand…yet we must operate from the assumption that it’s not random…if _that_ had been the case, then all children on any planet would be left dead and burned.”

“The frost faery’s got a point.” On normal occasions, Romanova would have found herself the target of a knife after such a comment, but maybe she can get through to the squabbling men. “We’re missing the pattern. Why _those_ children? Why’n that _order_?”


	3. Chapter 3

… Reader …

The smells are different on Terra. It should not have been such a surprise, really, because the chemical compositions always vary from one planet to the next, and you have gotten used to it after the third place you went to eradicate the Leeches. This planet: here the dancing flames burn with a thousand shades of yellow to red, sometimes a flicker matching your hair near the fuel, lifting up a tauntingly homey scent…like roast trifaerh. Combined with the blazing heat it calls upon memories of your childhood and, from much later, the quiet nights with your crew when a mission had been completed successfully and required celebration. Sinking to your knees, ignoring the oozing dripple of liquids snaking out from under the impromptu pyre, you allow the feelings to surface.

Seven. Each strong, eager, with long lives ahead of them until that last mission. Even now, you can see their smiling faces and hear their voices bantering as every crewmember carried out their duties in preparation for docking.

The research station was little, only hosting a few scientists and their families and you had wondered where the vessels were – had someone left to find help? Still, the distress signal was re-sent rather than looped and without physical evidence from the outside that something was wrong, you tasked the crew to follow you through the airlocks.

A shiver runs down your spine at the recollection and you hug yourself as best you can with the clumsy arm. Every blazing fire is to honour your crew, to prevent others from suffering the same fate as they did, and it brings you a warped calm to acknowledge the small victory. The problem is that as soon as the fire dies the sense of peace is extinguished too.

“I won’t rest,” you croak in a hoarse whisper, “not until I’ve exterminated them all.”

“We were afraid you’d say that.” The answer does not belong to any of the ghosts of your past, and despite the automatic translation the underlying threat remains obvious. “Gimme _one_ good reason not to kill ya…right…now.”

“I can provide several.” Slowly getting to your feet you hear the slight shuffle of other Terrans. “One…” the counting is neatly indicated by a finger, “you have to know if there are more with the same goal.” The reflection in the broken windows shows a gaudy robot behind you with a strangely realistic, Terran face. “Secondly…you want to know why.”

… Loki …

The restraints are somewhat alternative due to the injuries of the Betan, and her quiet compliance sets Loki on edge as much as it intrigues him. She oozes of calculative planning while at the same time offering them much more than they could have hoped for when she tells them where her gear is and allows Thor and Stark to drag her from the derelict factory towards the exit. Only as they reach the threshold out into the rain does she fight them – a brief struggle ended by a well aimed blow to the back of her head delivered by Barnes.

“Huh!” Natasha removes something from the Betan’s backpack. “Salt? What’s that for?”

“Keep looking, there might be tequila too,” someone comments dryly.

Barton ducks in time to avoid the still perfectly sealed ingredient, proving that he was the speaker. At the very least, it is obvious to everyone that the packaging is the original. _Maybe the Betan needs it for nutritional purposes?_ Not much was mentioned of the race in the report and Loki has honestly not payed much attention to the planet and its inhabitants during the last century or nine.

…

A long leg dangles over the armrest, allowing the chair to cradle Loki comfortably as he whiles the hours away. He has brought a book but watching the prisoner is a more welcoming distraction – especially now she begins to stir.

The first signs are the change in rhythm of the chest’s rising and falling, then the little ticks in her fingers. Next instant she is on her feet in a defensive position with the back against the wall as her impossibly dark eyes scan the surroundings without missing a detail of her prison – including the watcher on the other side of the glass wall.

Loki has not moved a muscle and as his composure remains the same it is clear that she relaxes a fraction – enough to push aside stray, ocean coloured hair, and to cradle the broken arm. He sees her tense anew upon realizing that the blade hidden in the cast is gone. _Few would notice your observation._ Oh, she is subtle in her ways despite the ferocity of the murders she has committed both here on Midgard and elsewhere.

“Your…benign belongings are under the bed.”

There is a second’s delay before she moves, groping in the darkness without leaving him with the eyes. Moments later a white-covered finger disappears tauntingly slow between her lips, the tip of her tongue briefly visible as it circles the digit with delicious accuracy the God can imagine applied elsewhere.

“All-Speak,” she hums upon extraction, “you are Asgardian.”

“Close enough.” The answer irks her, but Loki continues. “You on the other hand, my little devil, are from Sirius Beta.”

A slight nod to solidify the agreement. “Mhm.”

“Your name’s a challenge for me to pronounce, may I call you [Y/N]?” It sounds almost the same, much shorter of course, but everyone on Beta had convoluted names and it was only under the most pompous circumstances that they were expected to be used unabridged – that much he does know.

“Sure.” She has a way of rolling the shoulder whenever she is about to push a wayward strand of hair out of the face. The same strand.

“Grand. You’re formerly a commander of the Rescue Forces, officially discharged without honours after a jailbreak…but of course,” Loki smirks at the certain conviction of having the upper hand, “there’s no need for me to relay your own accomplishments.”

Again, salt crystals find their way past the murderer’s lips without as much as a single grain being lost due to nervous tremors.

“That is a shame,” [Y/N] pouts, finally relenting Loki a pretend victory in the staring contests, “I would have _loved_ to hear your version of my supposed crimes.”

“Supposed?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean…the way you’ve tracked and killed?”

“Yes, the way I have tracked,” the movements punctuate the words when she steps from the bed, “and…_exterminated_ each threat.”

Few are as callous as she. “They were _children!_”

But Loki’s frustrated shout bounces off the glass separating them, never hitting her back as she squats to rummage through the few belongings the Avengers have let her keep. _Children, you monster!_ Rage is taking over the Asgardian as past and present blends together to extend a crime ignored for too long, even now as many of time’s shadows have shrunk away from the blinding clarity of hindsight. _Little ones! _Barely started upon life when she came and robbed them of all that might have been.

“Were they?”

_Huh?_ Loki is never one to be derailed by such a simple question.

“Were they? Children?” Finally having found what she has been looking for, [Y/N] holds up a wad of scribbled notes against the barrier. “Look into the last mission.”

The disembodied voice of Stark’s AI guides the Betan to an airlock system set up to transfer items without risking breaching the containment. By the time Loki hesitantly reaches in to grasp the notes she is back on the bed, legs up against the wall and head dangling over the edge, allowing easy access to the stash of salt.


	4. Chapter 4

… Reader …

As days trickle by, you start to gather an idea of who your new prison guards are while they each take turn watching and “sneakily” questioning you. A few come close to something akin to subtlety (a female called Natasha, and a male with an interesting left arm), but they too have the disadvantage of interrogating someone who has nothing to hide.

“You admit to killing innocents…_dozens_ of families on and off Earth?”

The tall blond male, most often referred to as Captain by the others, is leaning heavily against the glass. Fists balled tightly and chest heaving. He, at least, would never succeed in a game of subtlety. _Too righteous._ Now you have to listen to another of his rants about right and wrong and innocent lives taken – as if you had done anything but come in and clean up the damage done by pests.

“Oh, Captain, Captain,” you sing-song as you bend into another stretch, “haven’t you read _any_ of the report?”

At this he pauses to look at you but finding your behind to be the most prominent point he neatly turns aside with a blush – a Terran response you have come to appreciate. “_IF_ by report you mean the notes you’ve written? Th–“

“Of course that is what I mean because that is what they _are_.”

“They’re claims without proof!” Abashed by his own exclamation, he calms down a bit. “Besides…we haven’t translated it all yet.”

_Now that makes more sense._ “The Asgardians should be helpful there. Once the brothers have done their bit, I am sure you will be busy cross-referencing any statements with intergalactic records _thus_ proving me…right.” Satisfied that you can not make the poor Terran change his facial colour further, you saunter up to the glass. “The longer the investigation lasts, the longer the threat will rage unchecked. Go-go.”

You watch him leave, tight-lipped and with broad shoulders shaking from pent-up frustration, before turning to the airlock where Captain had placed a meal upon arrival. As always, you ignore the bottle of water and turn your attention to the other items on the tray: cuts of bread with stuff in between (the wrapping claims it is a Sandwich), a fruit, and for the first time a puffed up bag. Even through the packaging, you can smell the salt, tempting you to devour those first. _Would they poison me?_ Turning the little package in your hands, you cannot find any signs the wrapping has been compromised.

“I figured you would like those,” Loki’s voice informs you endearingly, “as an alternative to your own stash.”

You shoot him a quick glance where he stands by the comfortable looking chair, but his face in unreadable. “And I assume you want something in return?”

“Consider it a gift,” he smirks, “out of the kindness of my heart.”

Rather than eat in front of the male, you lazily reinvestigate the corners of your cage for the millionth time, poignantly filling up the silence with nothing. Two can play at that game, experience tells. Of these people, these Avengers, quite a few have mastered the concept of waiting for an opponent to talk to end the awkwardness instead of wasting time asking the wrong questions. _You first,_ you will Loki silently.

“If you _could_ break out, you would already have done so,” he yawns, giving in to a long stretch that shows off an unoffendable physique, “not only that…why let yourself be taken in in the first place?”

“Little me? Against _all_ of you? Why waste the energy like that if I can get your help instead?”

The last part is neither meant nor received as a question.

A dark gleam dances in his pretty eyes as he gingerly steps up to the glass. “You’d hoped for the same when your _own_ people came for the arrest.” Long fingers draw unseen figures on the barrier, but it feels like it could have been along your spine judging by the shivers racing along your skin. “No fight then either…why should we believe you now if _they_ didn’t?”

_Sneaky bastard._ It is clear that at least one of your captors has gotten further studying and verifying you report than the others…unless Captain is a much better liar than you initially have taken him for. _Nope, this is the one to play._

“I suppose…I thought you were smarter…” It is with glee you see Loki’s mouth twitch. “Less…blind to the facts.”

… Loki …

“Their dried out minds _still_ cannot see the patterns!” he snaps a second too soon.

_Oh, she’s good._ It is difficult to gain the upper hand in a conversation with the Betan, and as much as it riles him up it also pleases Loki immensely. With perfectly groomed innocence, she has baited and caught him, causing him to reveal his own weakness in the process of showing off just how intelligent he is.

“Ohh, not only _are_ you looking under every rock…” Her voice is sweetened sin. “You already see the shape of the monster hiding there…and it is not me.” The most delightful giggle escapes the lips. “Tell me, what _do_ you know?”

No peace is left when he steps up as close as possible, their palms only separated by the glass that freezes over in gasps to obscure [Y/N]’s face from his sight. _Get a grip._ Schooling himself, it takes a moment longer than he would like to admit to calm down. _Frustration? Anger?_ It hardly matters as long as it no longer controls him except…those ever-black eyes hold him so well.

“The missing vessels from the colony…the research station. You tracked them down.” For once she actually seems impressed, although the Asgardian notices something else too which he sets his mind to uncover later. “You followed in their wake as far as you could, am I wrong?” Not giving time to respond, Loki continues with a dismissal wave of the hand. “Half of the notes are crude calculations to establish the most likely course to a next target-planet while some of the rest are a tally and I _dare say_ it’s of the monsters you hunt! The ones that killed _your_ crew!”

He has been too swept up relaying the knowledge privy only to him that he only now notices [Y/N] has slid to the ground, knees tugged to the chest and at least one arm slung bracingly around to hold herself in. To prevent her from falling apart. Short clipped nails are digging through messy locks the colour of Asgard’s waters on a bright day. Listening carefully, Loki hears the first broken sob.

“It…it’s true then.”

A needless comment but what else can he say? That he will help her set it right? Make the Avengers understand and aid as well? Nothing can lessen the pain, share the burden that has driven her wildly while holding her down by its weight.

“What have you _done?!_” Her sobs are broken by terror, and for a moment Loki actually fears he may have caused her some sort of harm. “I am _leaking!_”


	5. Chapter 5

… Loki …

To find joy in life, it is important to find happiness in the little things, and although Loki would have appreciated to have been the mastermind behind the squabble…well, it is a delight to watch the Avengers argue amongst each other. The room is heavy with the scent of panic and anger, each new word spewed adding to the roiling ocean of chaos.

“But her vitals are_ fine._” Banner mutters at the edge of the group, knowing all too well that no one is listening.

_If only the witch had been here,_ Loki muses. On the other hand, she would never have allowed the tempers to get out of control nor for the Trickster to sit calmly and watch the show with a drink in hand. Turning his head, he can see enough on one of the tablets on the coffee table to guess that the Betan has stopped crying. _Leaking, _she had said,_ so naïve._ In hindsight, it does make sense that she would not recognize tears for what they are.

“_ENOUGH!_”

Loud enough to shake the glass in the windowpanes, Banner’s shout catches everyone’s attention and though they are still on edge, their concern is due to the slightly green tint of the scientist’s skin rather than the topic of the argument. With a single nod, he signals for them all to sit down and shut up. They do. _Oh, can’t have a party every day._ It would have been quite entertaining if the Green Brute had made an appearance.

“Thank you,” Banner groans, also collapsing into a chair, “right…now…I don’t care who said what and…’nd shit…” There is an audible gasp from Stark, thickly laced with sarcasm. “Just tell me, someone please, why she’d think she’s leaking?” The question might be addressed to the group in its entirety but the tired (and slightly bloodshot) eyes are trained on the younger Asgardian.

_None of them have bothered to learn._ “Isn’t it obvious?” Loki allows a tone of mockery to slither into the rhetorical question. “Sirius Beta is so close to its star that the temperatures are hundredfold higher than here…naturally resulting in immediate evaporation of free liquids. [Y/N] has simply…never seen tears.”

The disrespectful scoff is hardly a surprise even if it irks Loki to hear it from this many. And of course Stark is the one to object the theory, as he calls it, by pointing out the alien female’s tolerance to the Midgardian temperatures.

“She’d freeze!”

“Not necessarily,” the tamed growl of Barnes retorts hesitantly, “her…her physiology isn’t like ours and besides…there’ many ways to train or…to condition a body to withstand a broad array of situations.”

The man rarely speaks in large groups, and only then if closely backed up by his faithful friend, Rogers, if the former Winter Soldier voices his thoughts unasked while clearly drawing on his personal experiences. _Screw the Hulk, this is far more interesting._

… Reader …

You had not been leaking. You had not been melting.

Despite attempts over the last day cycle, you have not been able to reproduce the crying, and you have a theory it might have something to do with the mental state you were in when it first happened. _What else can my body do?_ Lying flat on your back, you only have to turn your head to see the growing stash of water bottles tugged away under the bed. A simple test is all you need to perform to learn more about water. _Is it salty too?_

The bottle crinkles in your grasp, remaining slightly out of shape when you loosen the grip after unscrewing the lid. It does not smell of anything, you can barely feel it, as you allow a little to drop onto your finger.

“It’s safe.”

Technically, you do not hear the end of Loki’s statement, too busy squeaking in shock of him and the water sprouting upwards as you involuntarily squeeze the bottle. With a loud splash, it lands on the hard floor, the rest of the liquid joining it as you abandon any remainder of decorum to scramble away.

_Safe?_ “It better be!” To be fair, it does not actually do anything but lie there and reflect the lights above in a shimmering pool.

“As long as you don’t inhale it…or if it’s not too warm,” the sneaky bastard purrs, “you’ll be fine.”

“…what do you _use_ it for?”

There is a moment of silence where Loki stands with his mouth slightly open as though he has never been asked something like that before. Maybe it is a stupid question, but you have decided to learn as much about this phenomenon as you can. Liquids in general does make sense, like blood or lava, so all you have to do is figure out the workings of this.

“It…fulfils a similar function to many lifeforms like salt does to you, I believe. Perhaps you should not drink too much of it, actually.” You eye him but finding no deceit in his eyes decide to observe the topic of the lesson more closely while he continues. “We use it for cooking, bathing, a-“

“Bathing?” _Now that is just ridiculous._ “No sand?”

“Allow me to teach you, curious one,” he smiles.

It is garishly obvious. Something is making Loki think he has the upper hand or that he will somehow gain from the new arrangement. A careful person would deny him his wish. A person needing a change in a stalled situation has to use the opportunities as they present themselves which explains why you watch a section of the glass wall slide aside, granting him passage to your cell.

Once inside, he walks ahead of you to the niche where the basic necessities can be taken care of – you had recognized the seating arrangement for what it is already on day one. But Loki leads you past that, past the treacherous basin where you had discovered water to come out of a tap at a light touch, and towards an area with a thin glass door.

“See that?” He points to a few nobs and a sort of nozzle-arrangement protruding from above the wall. “That’s called a shower.”

With a fragment of hesitation, he slips off the long-sleeved tunic and dumps it on the floor, baring a surprisingly muscular upper body. Lithe and athletic, Loki is far from the bulky type of his brother or Captain, _but he does not have to walk around my bed more than once,_ you admit with a pleased shiver.

The enthusiasm dissipates, however, the moment he reaches in and (as he calls it) turns on the water. You see the way the drops land on his arm, clinging to the hairs even when he continues to undress. Slight rolls of puckering of his pale skin travel towards his, unfairly nice, shoulder before skating out of sight together with the lines of scarring that prove the legends of Asgardian valor true. Dipping his head towards you, his eyes are twinkling at your attention to his now naked body. _Shit, I was ogling._

“Yes, the water is a bit cold at start, but I’ll go in first…find a good temperature for you.”

No sense of modesty colours his cheeks, unlike the Captain’s would in this kind of situation. In fact, the blond, triangular man would mostly likely never get into a situation like this, let alone move in a perfect pace to show off everything. _Ooh, that is a lot._

Scrambling to focus, you clasp on to the conversation. “You want me to go in there? With _you_? Hah!”

You are tempted, at least marginally, when he steps under the water. With his eyes closed, he allows the stream to guide the large hands along his limbs, and you have to battle the basest instincts to turn away and leave the way you came.

Marching into the cell itself, you are stopped dead in the tracks at the sight before you: Loki. Loki sitting dressed and dry on your bed with a shit eating grin lighting up those mesmerizing eyes. _How? _Sensing a movement out of the corner of your eye, you turn to see an identical figure at the other end of the room. _A projection?_ Whatever the explanation, the Loki you had follow to the shower-thing is suddenly behind you, cold (and dry) hands grasping your shoulders.

“You really think I would let down my guard around you, pet?”


	6. Chapter 6

… Reader …

Loki knows all about you there is to read. He knows that you are (or were) a commander at the Rescue Forces which means that you trained, and excelled, at the Military Academy of Sirius Beta. Apparently, the sly Asgardian does not fathom what that entails, but you have decided to show him. The hard way.

_I have been outnumbered before._ Three to one is not the worst odds, though previous scenarios similar to this have not featured adversaries with the level that is to be expected of Loki. _But…it is just one Loki, really._ And there is the solution in all its simplicity.

Already, he is playing it right into your hands by circling you, keeping all three versions at an equal distance even as you step carefully towards the bed. He does not let you get that far, stopping you with a polite cough before you get within range of a blanket to tangle him up in. Still, it is enough to serve the main purpose when the three of him resume their pacing. _Nothing…come on…come on._ The man is babbling, presumably jeering at your misfortune or a perceived slight, but your attention is secretly on the puddle on the floor. _There!_

Launching yourself at one of the figures, most of your attacks are deflected easily. Straight fingers jab harshly between the ribs just below an armpit – not enough to do any damage, unfortunately – before you drop, crouching to knock out the feet from under him with a broad sweep of a leg.

“Umph!” It is impossible for Loki to break the fall, instead getting the air knocked out of him first by the floor and then by a graceful (if you must say so yourself) elbow to his solar plexus.

… Loki …

It smarts, and not merely physically, to find himself the one at the mercy of [Y/N]’s cunning instead of the other way around. Realizations come flooding as a poor replacement of the air his lungs so desperately crave, and he scrambles against the slippery floor to avoid a new attack.

Water is soaking into his clothes as an uncomfortable reminder of where he went wrong, forgetting to extend the illusions to include dragging wet footprints just like a physical manifestation would do. That is how the sly woman had seen through the magic and recognized a useful target. Furthermore, her offense has showcased an energy conserving tactic appropriate when expecting further confrontations.

But nothing happens. Pulling away, the prisoner moves her focus to the only exit and addresses the AI with clarity.

“Open.” Her voice is mimicking Loki’s to near perfection.

“I can’t do that,” the digital voice replies politely, “my security protocols don’t allow for simple tricks to override the lock.”

The AI sounds pleased, yes, Loki would almost claim there is a hint of disdain as though the artificial entity considers the attempt to be mere mockery. Whether [Y/N] picks up on the snide is of no interest to him, though. Getting to his feet as well, the Asgardian straightens up.

“I must applaud you, my dear, for discerning which one was the real me.” He is certain she must be rolling her eyes even if he cannot see it. “But…you will not escape.”

The dark eyes resembles smoldering coals, aglow with a fury that could burn away a weaker man’s confidence and leave him trembling at the mere memory for the rest of his life rather than appreciate the beauty of [Y/N]’s strength. _And we’ve locked you away? Shame on us._ Some wild animals should never be tamed, never be caged. Not only is the Betan a roamer at heart, Loki theorises, she has a just cause that will prevent her from finding rest until it has been fulfilled.

“I’ll help you.”

[Y/N] cocks an eyebrow at the Asgardian’s proclamation. “With what? Getting out of here?”

“As tempting as it is to steal you away this moment,” he chuckles, “it will save your cause if we do this the right way.” He extends a hand, offering a deal to go with it. “Not only will I advocate your reasoning…I will help you seek out the remainder of your foes.”

Rather than shake on it, the woman scrutinizes his face. “Why?”

“Because I believe you.”

The heat of her skin is scalding against Loki’s palm during the firm clench. Stepping close, [Y/N] holds their clasped hands captive in a vice made of their bodies and holds his gaze unblinkingly. “Do _not_ betray me.”


	7. Chapter 7

… Reader …

You have never in your life enjoyed standing up before a crowd. Speeches, attention, gawking silence. None of it was your glass of kwah, and even less so when the audience consists of a bunch of people carrying a grudge who have only just agreed to release you from prison. Still, a sideways glance at Loki helps steel the nerves. _I can use their help, anyways._

Quietly, searching for the right way to express yourself better than the translation device can do on its own, you explain about the mission that brought you and your team to the seemingly vacant facility. _If only I had known._ Like in the ghost stories for adolescents, a worse faith than death had been waiting to suck out the very essence of each crewmember, leaving them crumbled on the floor as empty husks with heartbeats, and while the first apparently had been swift and painless attacks…each member of the Avengers turns pale as you describe the effects of what you learned to be a Soul Leech’s feeding ritual.

Confusion comes first, replaced by a skin-prickling mix of understanding and fear. The kind of terror that creeps in from the darkest corners and weighs a person down with leaden chains as the body no longer is under their control. Then comes the complacency. Dulling their senses and the will to fight except in short bursts of clarity where desperation flares like bombs going off in their mind to illuminate – for no more than a second – what they have lost and what is about to slip away for ever. They know beyond a doubt what is happening but cannot change the horrible fate.

You had heard their strangled cries echo, smothered by the faintest whimpering before that too seized and all there was left was silent pleading. It had compelled you to end the life of five, instinctually knowing that they were about to suffer a fate worse than death. Your second in command had come staggering towards you with the last teammate trailing behind, both dazed and confused and all too keen to accept orders without questions or concerns about the fate of the rest of the crew whom they helped carry on board, only leaving a child behind riddled with wounds. _Dead._ The youngling had to be dead, you were sure…but something made you linger on the threshold to the airlock.

By the time your heartrate returned to normal, the research station was ablaze.

“You tracked them here?” Stark is not really asking as much as trying to organize his thoughts aloud.

There is a pain in Barnes’ eyes when he looks up at you. “The two survivors?”

“Padded cells,” you grimace at the croak in your voice, “barely remember any of their lives.”

The redhaired woman is more calms than the rest, clearly analyzing the situation like any other mission report. “Why through the chin ‘nd up?”

“Not noticeable at first glance by the authorities…gives me time to either eliminate new targets, move on.”

“Smart.” _Of course._ “How many targets left?”

“Unless they have multiplied…just one.”

… Loki …

Something has shifted within the God of Mischief. What had simply been a slight infatuation fueled by curiosity starts to fill his thoughts at all times, and while the memory of [Y/N]’s smile brings him joy it also bothers him to the point where he often finds himself walking the empty halls at night in the hopes of a distraction.

One such night, he passes the room [Y/N] has been provided as replacement for the cell to find the door ajar and a sliver of light streaming out. Not a sound can be heard. _She must have left to retrieve something._

Hesitating for only a heartbeat, Loki slips in after checking the coast is clear. _One look._ Now that it has been accepted that she may not be a simple murderer, she has gotten her belongings back

Displayed along the long desk by the window are the weapons laid out in neat rows next to a few tools he assumes are for maintenance. At the foot end of the bed sits the backpack with the contents tightly rolled except for a set of clothes and the heavy boots over by the chair to the left. All of it is easy to access and even the weapons stash can be rolled up in a makeshift container and carried with ease. _Easy to get ready for a fight or escape._

Already, his hands are itching to move things around maybe even take one of the lovely knives for himself, just to tease the Betan, and stepping closer Loki is already making up which one to slip away with when something hard presses into his back right between the shoulder blades.

“Explain yourself,” [Y/N] hisses coldly.

_She won’t kill me…I’m her first ally and the only one that has lived up to a promise that made a difference._ Self-assured and ready for a bit of fun, he spins around and adeptly catches and twists her arm to deflect whatever weapon she carries…but the only thing dropping to the floor is a bag of chips. In a swift move, Loki has her wrists in each of his hands (the difference in size now the cast apparently has been removed is obvious), her arms crossed under her bosom and back against his torso.

“Not this time, my dear,” he chuckles into the multicoloured hair.

They are cheap moves, stomping on his foot and banging the skull into his face, but they hold the element of surprise thus serving the purpose and before his vision has cleared again, he is lying on the floor.

“Yes, also this time.”

Perhaps shame or anger would be more fitting at this moment, however it is admiration that fills his heart and he cannot help the smile playing across his face as he stares up at the woman. Even now, dressed in soft shorts and a pink t-shirt that clearly does not belong to her, [Y/N] still maintains all her strength and poise.

“You are staring.” Even the furrowing brows are a shimmer of blue and green.

_Naturally, pet._ “Simply admiring the view from down here. You should join me.”

She does not. Picking up the fallen bag, she throws herself onto the bed with a sigh. The foil of the snack crinkles as it is torn open, and Loki finds a new smile growing on his lips at the sound of appreciation escaping her with the first crunch. It is so easy to imagine how slender fingers carry the golden slices to the darkened lips where the tongue slips out to aid in bringing the prize home in a cheeky yet delectable manner before the mouth closes in a tiny pout.

Deciding he has to see it the Asgardian sits up only to have the air stolen from his lungs at the sight of the splayed out figure. Oh, there is no doubt [Y/N] knows that he is staring…still she does not stir, not even when Loki takes a corner of the bed to sit on. Not when he scoots closer, a hand reaching forward undecided what the movement is meant to grant him.

“One more inch, and you will be _half_ the male you are now.”

As Loki lies in the darkness of his own room, the mesmerizing shimmer in [Y/N]’s dark eyes is the last memory to flutter through his mind before sleep claims him.


	8. Chapter 8

… Reader …

He was everywhere you went. Not just the meetings where you and the Avengers put your heads together in an effort to intensify the search for the last Leech but also when you were going to the kitchen or even at night, Loki would either already be there or appear shortly after. One day Romanoff showed you the gym with all its equipment begging to be used and it took less than an hour before the Asgardian revealed the library, telling you how you could normally find him there.

At first you suspected he was guarding you due to lack of trust. You may not have been a prisoner anymore, there was no cell at least, but you were still a stranger disrupting the natural balance in a group vital to this planet. As time passed, however, and you spent time on scouting missions and at the team’s base it became evident that his reasoning was personal.

This theory was solidified the day Banner announced to have found a potential suspect.

Together with Stark and Romanoff, he had created a series of algorithms scouring the digital records of Terrans within a certain area to compare medical data, and social media, plus changes in their behavioural patterns. The metal-armed Barnes and his friend with the shield had left to verify the suspicion before you were notified.

All you could do was wait. The moment they returned, you confronted them.

…

“Another restless night?” Loki’s voice is a clear chime calling you back to reality gently.

Swinging down from the bar to land on the floor, you shake your limbs out after the exercises without worthying him an answer. _Just go._ Of course, he does not leave, choosing instead to draw nearer.

Plopping onto a bench along the wall, you feel the restlessness return as an itch in your legs and a chest full of knots of worry. _Tomorrow._ You have stopped counting the time spent hunting the monsters that killed your crew – your friends – a long time ago. One goal. One all-consuming mission culminating with a plan that you have gotten approved by the Captain. _Tomorrow._ By this time tomorrow, your hunt will be over. _I should be relieved, but I am not._

As if reading your mind, Loki nudges you gently back to the present. “Do not worry, my pet.” He sits down next to you, calm and cool. “Everything will go well…the plan is good.”

“I know.” Being near to him soothes your nerves if only a little.

“Then you can clear your name, live your life.” There is an edge to his voice which you cannot place. “Regain your honour.”

“No.” You can see the answer startles him. “I will return, but not to clear my name.”

“You are innocent! You may have escaped prison, but you got justice fo-“

“_Justice?_” You barely contain the sarcastic laughter as you round on him. “Do not _pretend_ to think this ever was about _justice_ or _honour_! It was _revenge_ and _nothing_ more! The leeches are simply a species doing what they must whereas I was the one who brought my crew in danger…th- hrm…the one who brought their end upon them.” Ignoring his protests, you carry on, unable to stop despite a breaking voice now you have started talking. “I _shall_ return home…face the Elders and accept my punishment with peace in my heart.” Fists balled and body shaking, restlessness has morphed through anger into determination.

“You’ve nothing to atone for!” he cries out, a cold hand grasping yours and sending (not unpleasant) shivers along your spine, “y- ‘tis time for you to _live_.”

“That is _not_ your decision…and why do you even _care_?”

From what you have learned about the smooth-talking God of Mischief, the sight of him sitting there with his mouth ajar yet nothing to say is rare. A soft blush paints the pale face even as he gathers his wits once more. “At least stay for the celebration. The uh they always mark a successful completion of a mission with a party.”

You hesitate, knowing that it will only be postponing the inevitable. Still, a little chip of your heart is urging you to accept the offer. One night of freedom. Looking down, you realize his hand has not moved but that at some point you have returned the gesture by wrapping your fingers around his. _Oh._ Gingerly, perhaps not to appear rude, you free yourself from the connection and start to leave.

“…[Y/N]…?”

_Why do I hesitate?_ Maybe the question is unnecessary if only you would accept a new feeling inside your chest. “Fine, I will participate in the revels.”

… Loki …

It is a dreary morning with grey clouds hanging low over the city, shielding it from the beginning day at least until the sun eventually would gain enough power to evaporate the layer. For now, however, it also served as a natural softener of all sounds as the mismatch tea of Midgardians, Asgardians, and a Betan move towards the house in the suburbs.

The entrance is swift and quiet. In groups of two or three, they move from room to room. Loki is among those covering the ground floor and it allows him to see the father of the family rounding on Barnes who only keeps a safe distance between them thanks to a strong hold with the metal arm. _By the Norns!_ What they had expected to be a docile civilian opens his mouth further than humanly possible to reveal a black nothingness where teeth and tongue should have been. A strange sound of air being sucked picks up for a second before a shimmering metal rod flies past Barnes’ face and into the gaping mouth, effectively killing the not-so-human man.

“What…the fuck?!” Barnes’ is clearly shaken as he stares at the corpse.

Everyone else is looking to [Y/N] who steps over to retrieve her weapon.

“Leech.” She wipes off the blood on the dead’s pants with a sigh. “Once the soul is completely gone the feeding Leech can choose to either let the corpse die naturally…or they can multiply by inserting a shard of themselves.”

“So…the others?” Rogers might both be referring to the former victims of the Leeches as well as the rest of the family.

“Doubt it,” [Y/N] shrugs, “does not seem to be possible several times in a row…”

There is a soft sound over the com in Loki’s ear and he knows everyone on the team hears it too when Natasha speaks. “Eyes on kids and mother upstairs, left off the stairs.”

“On my way,” the Betan responds before continuing to the three males around her, “get this one on there.” She motions to the couch.

Rather than helping them, Loki hurries after [Y/N].

Upstairs, the sight is differently gruesome with three Avengers’ weapons trained on a girl of maybe six years and her mother who is cradling a baby in her arms – a clearly lifeless child though the woman does not seem to have noticed neither that nor the intruders. In fact, only the little girl appears to be aware of anything. Blond curls, rosy cheeks, dead eyes staring at the strangers.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Stark groans, “it’s the kid?”

“Of course…no one mistrusts a youngling. They can get close enough to feed.” The hollow voice of the Betan does nothing to resolve the tension, and it is possible to see Barton’s bow tremble.

Stark simply powers down the weapons imbedded in the suit’s gloves. “I…I can’t do it.”

“Go downstairs,” Natasha offers, “you too, Clint.”

…

Grim faces on everyone. Gathered in the living room, they have placed the entire family in the couch – three of them with lethal wounds as proof of the closest thing to mercy the Betan could grant. Now she is rummaging through the kitchen while the others try to come to terms with what has happened. Words unspoken, yet most of the Avengers clearly shaken.

“Let’s get outta here,” Stark croaks, “clean-up’s coming to deal with…this.” The half-hearted wave of his hand encompasses the entire situation.

The Betan returns with several bottles of flammable liquids and all the paper around. “No rush…”

She barely gets time to open the cleaning alcohol before the remedies are snatched from her by the Captain. “Not this time.”

“We have to.”

“I said no.”

“But in a mo-“

“No!”

Ignoring the order, [Y/N] tries to bypass him only to be shoved backwards into Loki’s arms that instinctively wrap around her. “Not this time, pet, let them do this the Midgardian way.”

Suddenly, he has to fight to hold her back as a panicked anger takes over her mind. Curses and warnings become garbled as she screams out the frustrations, and the rage only subsides once Loki has managed to drag her outside though the woman does not relax. Eyes trained on the door. Body taught and shivering against his chest.

“It’s okay, pet,” he soothes, “it’s over. You can let go of it.”

“Not yet…not over yet…”

As if to prove her right a gun goes off inside. Once. Twice. Moments later smoke begins to billow, herding out Thor, Stark, Clint, Rogers, Romanoff, and Barnes.

“The…the father…” the metal-suited man explains, “he…woke up? He started moving…”

Flames are licking against the windows now and it is possible to feel the heat already. Finally, with a deep sigh, [Y/N] relaxes against the Asgardian’s chest, allowing the years of stress to be replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion.

She is asleep in his embrace by the time they return.


	9. Chapter 9

… Reader …

Your boots, gear, and outer layer of clothing has been replaced by a soft blanket when you wake up. Jerking upright in bed, you take in the room only to find it empty even where the evening shadows have started to gather in the corners. A small glass bowl with those chips things is standing on the bedside table. _Loki._ Theoretically, it could have been any of the Terran heroes except…you do not want it to be.

The snack is gone and fingers licked clean of the last delicious crystals when someone knocks. In comes Natasha with a stack of clothing which she dumps on the bed before you.

“You’re not celebrating the success in your tacs,” he announces, “so Wanda and I scoured our closets. Get ready.”

“Yes, sir.” The words are meant as a joke, but you would not dare contradict her as long as her eyes are gleaming with the harshness of steel.

Since the release from the prison, you have been experimenting with the Terran way of cleaning. Cloths dipped in water from the sink have done a decent job although you miss the full body experience of the sand rubbing off dirt and leaving the skin soft and sensitive. _Perhaps…_ The tiles and glass defining the shower are cold against your hands when you lean in to have a better look at the wide thing from which the water will fall. _It is my last chance to try it._

The sound is similar to that of sky leaks. _Rain_. Also, the water is colder than you like – it is bad enough that the air on this planet has such a low temperature but for some reason it seems worse when it is wet, and you have to pull yourself together to undress and enter the cubicle.

At first, you try to avoid the frigid drops as you fidget with the controls but as the water heats…well, it is not so bad anymore and you start to enjoy the feeling.

… Loki …

He had become worried when the Betan was gone from the bed until he heard the splashing of water and the lingering concern mixed with curiosity which he gladly gave in to. Steam billowed in the white and blue bathroom, covering every surface with a thick layer of condense. He could have used a spell to remove the obscuring fog, granting a clear view of the figure in the shower while simultaneously breaking his own cover but there was something innocent, yet enticing, about the blurry vision of [Y/N]’s limbs caressing her body in partnership with the fragrant suds. When she released a moan of delight, Loki echoed it silently.

_Of all the creations in all realms…why her?_

Quiet as a cat, he slipped from her quarters, knowing what he had to do.

… Reader …

By the time you have showered and dressed, you are convinced that Terran women must be constantly freezing if all they wear in this climate is as skimpy as what Wanda and Natasha have provided. Or…it is not skimpy as such but…_ugh!_ Turning in front of the mirror, you feel exposed in the body hugging dress: knee-length, long sleeves, and a high collar, all of it made in a black, soft fabric that almost manages to shield you from the constant chill in the air. There are shoes to go with it – all of them with higher heels than you have used in ages.

To say that you feel out of your comfort zone when you walk into the common room is an understatement.

“Here.” Natasha pushes a tiny drink in your hand. “Looks like y’need it.”

Pride urges you to deny it, but why bother? “Thank you…erm…and also for the…the…” When words fail, you motion at the outfit, earning an approving nod from the flaming-haired woman. “What is it?”

Understanding that the question is in relation to the beverage, she smiles. “Tequila. Burns in the stomach, salt on the rim…but with some lime to add a bit of taste.” The smile turns into a lopsided grin as she walks away. “You’ll like it.”

_Ahuh?_ The conviction is not shared. In fact, nothing about the situation makes you feel any sort of tenderness or affection. There are people present that you have never met before, behaving as though they are a part of the Avengers while still ogling you with unveiled curiosity even if the only visible difference between you and them is the eyes. _Just a little while…then I will leave._

Keeping your back to the wall, you skirt the room for a less obvious spot from where you can get your bearings to navigate the unwritten social rules.

Music is playing – the strange tunes uncannily familiar due to the rumble of the underlying beat – and creating an absorber to the many voices of the guests and residents. In the maelstrom of chatter, the translator implant is unable to keep up unless you concentrate hard on just once conversation and you quickly fall back to relying on the body language of those surrounding you at a distance.

Mindless actions take over in your loneliness, lifting the glass with the pungent liquid to your lips. Salt crystals shift from the rim to your tongue, carrying a sour note which quickly washes away by the biting liquor. In a flash, memories of your team wells up and you savour the burn even as you lick off the rest of the bitter salt-circle. If feelings were a beverage, then these would be your emotions bottled and served to indulge in the pain of why you had to embark on the hunt, the reasons for the emptiness at the prospect of going home. Finishing a mission is supposed to be a celebrated accomplishment, a moment of victorious joy…this time it is a pain in your heart and soul as you prepare for the whiplash to come.

A sound reaches your ears, soothing and riling as only one voice can, and you spot Loki on his way towards you. _Not now._ You cannot bear to face him, preferring instead to burn away the ghosts until the morning, so when he is distracted you grab the opportunity to slip off to another corner.

Moments later, you are “downing” the fourth tequila to Stark’s amusement. “Better make sure you get some o’ this with ya,” he grins, already pouring a new one.

“No need…but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Loki says you’re leaving soon?”

The question is offhand, a nonchalant curiosity playing in the corners of the dark eyes which causes you to tense straight away. “By the end of this party.”

“Shame, it’d been nice if you stuck ‘round bit longer.” The smile is genuine, a kindness catching you off guard enough to cage the words in your throat as he saunters off.

…

Agonizing minutes have turned into hours where more and more people are coming over to chat, inquisitive but never demanding in their many inquiries. Some are the Avengers you know while others have been strangers with convoluted ties to the team and similarly colourful backgrounds which have made you feel less, well, alien. However, each time you have seen Loki heading your way, you have managed to dodge him…until now.

Standing by the bar, his silent presence behind you creeps under the skin. You have no intention of meeting his gaze when you turn, but he places a cool hand on your arm to stop you.

“Can we talk?”

Shrugging off the light grasp, you roll your eyes. “Proper words…yeah, apparently you can talk. Good for you!”

“[Y/N],” he pleads, quiet enough for only you to hear, “just a moment of your time…”

_Fine!_ Heart thumping and mouth set in an impatient grimace, you follow him away from the party and towards the nearest stairwell. Each step he takes as he leads the way feels like a stomp on your courage. Not that you fear him. What you resent is the way your resolve wavers each time he speaks softly; how your plan fades when you look into the green-blue eyes. _I must accept the consequences of my actions!_ But the voice in your mind sounds less like you and more like a snippy teacher with no understanding of a youngling’s needs. Whatever Loki wants to say, now that you are standing still, you will refuse to change your mind.

“I assume I can’t talk you out of leaving?” Turning to face you, the tall Asgardian presses his lips tightly together.

“Correct.” _Then why does it hurt to say it?_

“You’ll return to Sirius Beta…face the court and accept what judgement they see fit?” This time you simply nod, gaze fixed on the wall behind Loki. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“_What?!_” There is no way you misheard it. “You are _not_ –“

“I’ve already sent word of your actions and reasons behind it, vouching for your innocence and swearing to witness upon your return.” The urgency in his voice echoes the frantic rhythm of your pulse as the words register with you. “Don’t thro-…you’re…I _can’t_ let you give up without a fight. I’ll fight for you, do you understand?”

_I…do not know. Does he?_ “No.” And it is true, you do not understand why he would go so far nor why you have to feel the way you do for him.

“[Y/N]…I can’t lose you!”

His hands are strong and unyielding as they grasp your shoulders to drag you close enough for lips to skim over lips as he bares his heart, ripping yours out in the process. Every word he says could have been spoken by yourself if only you had taken the opportunity to accept the feelings and thoughts rather than bury them under the sense of duty – a righteousness that will separate you from him. _I do not love him._ But you do. _He does not love me._ But he does._ He is mistaken._ Unless he can be convinced of that, however, there is no holding him back.

“Loki –“

The Asgardian’s lips are as soft as you have imagined when they seal the kiss. Abrupt, desperate, pouring over with a deep seethed urge to stall time. Of course you give in, the dance of tongues and shared breath taking over your body for an eternity that ends too soon.

“No…”

Wrenching free from what has become an embrace, you rush the only way possible: up the stairs. It does not matter where you will end up, as long as it is far away where no one can see you are leaking for the second time in your life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for minors. This is smut/lemon/sex.

… Loki …

He is torn between following the Betan and giving her the space she seems to require. So he withdraws to his room, cherishing the memory of her response when their lips had met. Loki’s mind is made up about coming with her to her home world and defend her innocence…even from [Y/N] self and the self-imposed guilt.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Loki hears neither the door open and close hesitantly nor the soft padding of naked feet against the floor. It is not until he senses a movement out of the corner of the eye that he starts upright, summoning a dagger into existence in his hand.

“[Y/N]?”

There she is. A worried frown adorning the face, bottom lip tugged between the teeth. The weapon disappears from his hand as he sits up on the edge of the bed and the gorgeous form slips close enough to stand knee to knee. _Ravishing._ This time his touch is gentle, merely brushing the curves of her thighs, hips, and waist while Loki holds his breath in fear of a rejection.

It does not come.

“I want to be near your…with you…” [Y/N] whispers.

“Yes.” His own voice is hoarse, barely inaudible.

A shiver runs through the Betan’s body. “I _must_ return…but I…it is…they will hear the entire truth. Facts and reasoning without any shame or guilt.”

The heart of the Asgardian soars like a jubilant bird through the skies. Without thinking, he pulls her onto his lap, straddling him to be even closer. There is a twang of alcohol on her breath, and if they were to kiss then she would taste of salt and citrus – but when their lips brush together, she pulls back.

“If they do not let me go free…”

The rest remains unspoken, communicated through the demanding grasp in Loki’s hair, the nails digging through the shirt right into his shoulder blade. _Then at least you’ll have this to think back on,_ he promises silently before adding to himself,_ I won’t let them cage you._ Thoughts melt away at the taste of her tongue. She moves in his arms, allowing him to feel her through the fabric as the hips undulate to grind against his budding erection.

When the Betan pushes him backwards, laying him down to admire the perfect view, it is all he can do to restrain himself from taking over control of the situation. As she works the tight dress off, Loki fists the sheet and fights for the breath she has stolen. At least she lets him tear the flimsy undergarments off her figure before pushing him down once more to make quick work of the buttons, belt, and zipper.

The rush of fresh air cools his overheated skin. The lack of trousers is freeing, briefly blessing the building tension though the relief only lasts until [Y/N]’s hand begins to stroke languidly at first, exploring his reactions to what she does. A sigh escapes him when pleasant goosebumps race up his spine. _This is wrong._ Fighting a shudder, Loki catches her wrists. Black like the endless universe and filled with the sparkle of all the stars, her eyes meet his unwavering.

Next instant the Asgardian is hovering above her. Hip to hip and chest to chest, yet still not close enough even as he breathes in the oceanic scent that he forever will associate with her.

… Reader …

Never before have you let a male actively partake in the act, always preferring to be the one in charge as it granted you a certain…_safety?_ But there is no fear now. No worries of what he might do because your entire being resonates with his to the point where words are meaningless and danger an impossibility. It is all too easy to give in to the touches, arching your back as his lips travel between breasts, over stomach, sidetracking to nibble teasingly at your inner thighs as a strong grip prevents you from squirming and chasing his tongue in the hopes of more.

_More._ The air, like your heart, is thrumming with anticipation by the time the tip of Loki’s tongue flicks over the sensitive nub.

_More._ Kitten licks transform as his greediness and your keening pleas edge him on. Broad strokes, sharp tugs and bites to contrast, and already your insides clench in demand of being filled…but not even when he uses his nimble fingers does any part of him enter you.

_More._ He moves swiftly, slotting the narrow hips between your shivering thighs while he holds himself up by the arms. The pale face, glistening from your arousal, hovers above yours as he waits for approval – a nod.

_Yes._ How he can move so slowly is beyond you, but then…all you can do is hold on as your body rejoices in the feeling of his cock pushing deep enough to ignite new fires within. He is cruel for denying bliss when it is so close. And he is amazing for prolonging the build-up, stoking the flames perfectly.

“Fuck.” His breath tickles your neck and ear. “I need you.”

_More._ The pace shifts, increasing though each thrust still is measured for both of you to last. Rolling your hips you meet him - tight and perfectly angled to push him beyond the calculated motions and towards wild abandon. Not even your hands cupping his ass and pulling him has an effect beyond him biting his lip.

_More!_ A slight twist and your leg is resting on his shoulder, making Loki falter at the new angle which (miraculously) is better still. Gasps fill the room, the grunts of the Asgardian matching the rhythm a bit longer before he abandons any form of restraint to flip you over and pulling you to your knees. Exposed like that, head down and ass up, you moan his name – the rest of your breath punched out of you as he slam back in.

_Yes._ The first thrusts scoot you forward on the sheet until a bruising hold on your hips steadies you.

_Yes!_ Every cell in your body erupt with pleasure, taking over your senses as the tension in your womb is released in wave upon scalding wave and sends your conscious spiraling in free fall through a world which only holds Loki and you. And just as the real world begins to return, the man stutters and groans your name. His release sets your off once more. This time lighter, open to what happens as he collapses onto the bed, dragging you along with him and pulling you close into his embrace.

“I’ll never give you up,” he promises into the small hairs clinging to your neck, “let me be yours.”

And just like that, your heart shatters into a million pieces at the memory of the uncertainty that awaits and the loss it can bring.

“I love you,” you promise instead. _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omitted chapter ending:
> 
> You hesitate, listening to the rhythmic breathing of Loki, before opening the door and slipping out into the darkened hallway. There is no note left behind together with the piece of your heart. No kind words to lessen the sense of betrayal he might feel upon waking up alone. What good would it do, anyways? He will know why you have left.


	11. Chapter 11

The journey had been long and lonely, each moment tainted by the bittersweet dream of what could have been if you had not left him asleep that night. Oh, how you wish he was at your side during the trial. Not to vouch for you, as he had promised, but to look towards you with a trust that generally was lacking in the faces of the people – _My people_ – while you explained the events and showed them the proof you had brought.

“We received a message,” the High Judge snarls, “that a witness would have come with you?”

That question stings.

The eyes of every judge, orderly, everyone are glued on you as words fail to come out your mouth. There is a prickle in your eyes and you instinctively know that if you were still on Terra, tears would be falling. _Why now?_ You have no one to blame but yourself. Clenching your fists, causing the handcuffs to dig into the skin of the wrists, you power on down the road you started on when the airlock to the research station opened a long time ago.

“There has been a change of plan, your honour.” By some miracle your voice does not waver. “The written testimony will have to suff-“

Everything stops as the sound of scuffling emanates through the grand entrance to the courtroom. People are arguing outside. Loud and insisting but apparently to no avail as the doors are flung open, letting in a cold wind and…your heart skips a bit or two as it tries to come to terms with what you see. At the same time relieved and mortified to face the Asgardian whom you left in the dead of night without a word of explanation.

“Loki.”

It is no more than a whisper but he has already spotted you on the podium before the panel of judges, shooting the kind of smirk you have come to adore in your direction before stalking towards the High Judge. An outsider would think he belongs here, confidence coming off him in heavy waves as he respectfully (even observing the strict traditions of the Court of Sirius Beta) addresses the disgruntled panel of judges.

Satisfied with the intruder’s greetings, the High Judge dismisses the entourage of guards and orderlies that has trailed the new-comer with the intent of removing him from the room. Forcefully if needed. A significant amount of them look disappointed with the decision although they respect it wordlessly.

“I do sincerely apologize for my tardiness and manner of arrival, your honours,” the Asgardian continues to sweettalk, “hopefully, you of all people can sympathize with the urgency of dealing with the lingering threat of an invasive species bend on annihilating the indigenous inhabitants of a planet.”

He somehow manages to say it so casually that even you find yourself nodding before the complexity of the implication truly registers.

“Loki Odinson, formerly of Asgard – now hosted by the Terrans.” There is a titter of whispers rushing through the audience at the latter part of the announcement. “It is not customary to interrupt a trial – however as I had only just asked to your whereabouts…” here the High Judge pauses to send you a cold glare, “you will be allowed to be questioned.”

_No! That is not –_ “Your honour!” you pipe up frantically, “if I may be granted a word with –“

“You may _not_.” Something heavy drops into your stomach at the dismissal. “In fact, you may sit down and remain silent.”

“But –“

“Silence the accused.”

A moment later, you are sitting on a small stool with a trifaerh leather muzzle tied uncomfortably over your mouth and jaws. Shame burns across your skin but there is nothing you can do to prevent Loki from taking the stand.

… Loki …

Cold fury had powered the Asgardian through the interrogation when every look towards his love nearly broke his heart over and over again. Muted and cuffed, she remained aloof and unmoved by Loki’s answers to the drilling questions – only the burning coals of her eyes proved she was still alive. As if to compensate, his own body itched with a desire to slaughter in and every Betan involved in the offensive trial.

Justice, the bold letters along the frieze all around the Court Room spelled out, though the spectacle that had unfolded was far removed from the notion and yet…disheartening as it might have been, the blame was not only that of the Judges but belonged to [Y/N] in equal measure. Wrapped up in the old, poisonous sense of guilt she had presented her case while downplaying the facts that could clear her name, leaving Loki hard-pressed to undo the damage.

As in a feverish nightmare, the Asgardian watches the Judges file into the court room after debating in private. Each face his gaze lands on is closed, revealing nothing else than the severity of the case – a ranking member of the Rescue Forces on trial is outrageously uncommon.

_This is it._ In his periphery, the High Judge stands. A hush whispers through the room, while the accused and Loki barely breathe. _No matter the verdict, my love, you will not become a prisoner on this day._ Black eyes flicker towards him and he wishes she could hear the comforting words rather than the longwinded speech. A speech that ends with the phrase: “The accused is deemed _not guilty_, all charges will be dropped and expunged from records”.

He is at her side in a matter of seconds. Rigid like a statue in his embrace at the shock of the judges’ decision, it takes a long time and many coaxing whispers before the Betan leans into him.

“What now?” she wonders in a sighed whisper. “I cannot stay here…whe- what will I do?”

_Surely, she can feel my heart racing._ “Come with me, please?” When there is no answer, he continues with determination. “Come back to Terra, to the Avengers. Stay with…you don’t have to be alone or on the run. You can have a home again…”

[Y/N] pulls back a bit to meet his gaze, a glimmer of something warm in her eyes. “A home with you?”

“If you’ll have me…”

Loki’s heart leaps as she snuggles against his chest, oblivious of the many Betans sending the pair odd looks as the pass by on the way out of the court room. Already, her heat has melted through his callousness and arrogance – habits built up over centuries – as well as thawed a Jotun heart. And he loves it. He loves the hot softness against the palms, the sweet burning of his old ideas and expectations as new hopes form.

“Yes, let us go home, Loki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and particularly commenting.


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